Fired By Football

Some of the recent NCAA investigations into alleged malfeasance by college football players reminded me of an article written by Gary Smith in the April 8, 2002, Sports Illustrated —“Lying in Wait”—about Notre Dame’s five-day football coach George O’Leary’s fall from grace. Most of the words written here are Smith's although I altered some phrases, deleted some things, and occasionally added a few comments.

His story begins with matches. George, a Catholic alter boy, told his mother he hadn’t been playing with them. Emboldened by getting away with the “little” lie, he reached for the matchbox above the sink a second time. Mrs. O’Leary, genetically endowed as all  mothers with the sixth sense for trouble in the kitchen,  startled George with a surprise attack through the dining room door. Mrs. O’Leary sent George to his room to await Father’s return from work. His dad followed the token warning to George about the danger of matches with the assurance that all boys like to play with fire and that Mom would calm down in a day or two.

Can a small incident lead to big trouble? What if your big brothers were
Straight-A students and all-stars on the school teams? What if your younger sister was the sweetest, most affectionate girl in the classroom. What if you were “thick and blunt,” an average student who couldn’t sing or dance or entertain like the rest of the family? What if you couldn’t run as fast or jump as high as your brothers? What if you dropped out of college and were struggling until your father found a place for you on the University of New Hampshire football team? What if you quit the team after 10 days? What if you had to struggle academically  to eke out a B.S. in physical education? What if your father secured your first job as a teacher and assistant football coach at your old high school? What if everyone thought of you as “Dad’s project?” What if you suddenly caught fire?

George, set ablaze at a Woody Hayes football clinic, began living the philosophy of the Ohio State coach: “Your players have to do it right, every time!. Be tough! Be strong! Fight! Hit! Never quit! Never give up! Win! Win! Win!”  George breathed fire.

George took over as a head high school coach. His teams went to 16-1-1 in two seasons. He moved from Dad’s area of influence to Liverpool High in upstate New York, inheriting a 1-9 squad that he turned into 10-0 winners in three years.

Syracuse football coach, Frank Maloney, offered a job. George had made the big leap, jumping over graduate assistant and Division III coach, to land on the pinnacle as a major-college assistant.

The great leap wasn’t enough. Although everyone else saw him as a fire-breathing dragon, George continued to think of himself as a boy sent to his room without matches.

On the Syracuse University personal information form George added extras so that he would feel more secure:
       1. High school—basketball, all league 2. New Hampshire—football, 3 letters 

George rationalized that these additions gave him more authority, more aura, more power to transform boys into football winners. No one who hired him ever asked to see his resume. His ability to win was enough.

George moved to defensive coordinator at Georgia Tech. In 1987, a member of Tech’s sports information department interviewed George to prepare a biographical sketch for the fall football program. Following the interview, the boy who played with matches had a master’s degree.

George continued to work, to breathe fire, to win. After 16-hour work days, seven days a week, ten cups of coffee and 10 fingernails a day, an ACC title, five straight bowl berths, two ACC coach of the year awards, and national coach of the year in 2000, Notre Dame called.

The Catholic alter boy who played with matches was coach of Notre Dame, Our Lady’s university, home of the Golden Dome. Within five days the world that

George set on fire would be burned to the ground.

A reporter from the Manchester Union Leader in tracking down a story on men who’d been honored by playing football with Notre Dame’s new coach discovered that George had never played football at the University of New Hampshire. Notre Dame’s Vice President of Public Affairs, about to release a statement admitting George’s weakness as a young coach, a statement that would have allowed George to remain as coach of Notre Dame, asked one more question. Yes, George had lied about a master’s degree. A firestorm erupted. False academic credentials were intolerable at Notre Dame.

We’ll skip the shame that George suffered, the depression that ensued, the embarrassment of his wife, children, siblings, friends, fellow coaches, and his 80-year old mother. We’ll move directly to the questions:

• Does willingness to lie on a resume merely indicate how much you want the job?
• Do the ends justify the means?
• Is it worth the pain to wage a life against a lie?
• Does the rumor that everybody else does it, justify doing something that is wrong?
• When you are a fire-breathing dragon, why play with matches?

Some of us, some of the time are tempted to expand our resume, to add a little embellishment to our lives, to stretch the truth. But people don't care about our resumes. They want to know if we can win with people, if we can defeat our temptations, if we can pick ourselves up when we fall and pursue victory with zealous determination. 

In the words of Lou Holtz people ask three questions when they meet us. They may not be aware that they ask these questions, but deep down in the convolutions of the cerebrum three questions peculate about us:

1. Can I trust you?
2. Do you care for me?
3. Are you committed to excellence?

Those answers can't be found on a resume.

Postscript: George O’Leary is currently the head football coach at the University of Central Florida located in Orlando, a fiery one, and quite successful too.